The Free Pisstakes of My Life

I went to the Delhi Book Fair in Pragati Maidan a couple of days back and had a day’s browseful of books. Needless to say, it was a refreshing experience - as leafing through books always is for me.

Apart from a leaner crowd compared to last year’s (at least in terms of the days when I visited), there was something unusually obvious this year. Umm, what was it?

Oh yes, yes, I got it! Arrrgghhh!! Hmmmph!!! Can’t escape it – few book-watchers in India can. The Three Mistakes of My Life. The Three Mistakes of My Life. The Three Mistakes of My Life.

As if writing the title of Chetan Bhagat’s latest teeny bopper sensation three times will serve as an act of my own triplex of confessions! But I just had to get it out of my itching throat and steaming head. Excuse me, I’ll say it once more: The Three Mistakes of My Life. Sigh.

The book fair seemed to have been unfairly booked by Bhagat’s publisher as well as other opportunistic exhibitors, many of whom had plastered handwritten posters on their stalls: The Three Mistakes of My Life and other books by Chetan Bhagat available here. Many prominently displayed a bookcase pack of all the three novels by what The New York Times has called India’s best-selling English author.

While I was busy flipping through Amitav Ghosh’s Sea of Poppies or Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat Pray Love, some chick or the other was heard eagerly asking: “Baiiya, do you have The Three Mistakes of My Life?” Most of these naïve young ladies had trouble speaking Hindi and couldn’t pronounce the usual “Bhaiya” [meaning “brother” in Hindi, without any intended brotherly, motherly or any otherly feelings] that all salespeople, hawkers and attendants in India are supposed to be addressed as. But the girls were Indian enough to know that if they wanted to grab their attention, Bhaiya was the word. (Before I’m termed as sexist, let me tell you that there were quite a few boys, too, asking for Three Mistakes as well – even if in a rather sheepish accent or a voice borrowed from their friends who happened to be girls. Okay, call me sexist if you must!)

I hold nothing against Bhagat or his publishers. I haven’t read any of his books, but saw some reviews that were not as flattering as the sales. But I just can’t stop wondering, Must the marketing propaganda succeed where literary merit failed to make a mark? And what about India’s true literary geniuses, who have slogged much more and deserve much more sales hits?

I’m sure most of India’s less-than-bestselling literary lights must be sulking and squirming…

Meanwhile, I overheard one youngster remark to another: “Ernest Hemingway? I think I read his name somewhere but am not sure how he writes, so can’t give you my reco [recommendation]. Have you tried Chetan Bhagat?”